I Will Remember You

by L. Jaye Morgan

  She wanted answers and he wanted to give them to her but he couldn’t risk her saying something that put the heat back on her. He hoped she understood that one day. Maybe she would write to him. Maybe not. Linton said she’d be married to some other nigga within a year. In the back of his mind, he knew it was true.

  Tremaine was surprised the memory loss was legit. He’d initially thought she was faking because amnesia was some TV shit. But he eventually realized she really didn’t remember him, or them, and he blamed himself. He was just gonna let it ride and be there for her and the family as a friend but he still loved her. After a while, he saw that she was catching feelings for him, too. For a woman like Gianna to fall in love with him not just once, but twice? It made him feel like he was worth something. Maybe Justin had been right about him. Maybe he was still insecure. Maybe he needed a dime to validate him. Maybe he really was that pathetic.

  It had all started out innocently enough. Justin was his boy and Gianna was just some girl he was dating. The guys had a running joke about new girls. No matter what their boy said—she’s smart, she’s cute, she’s funny, I love her, she might be the one—the first response was always, “but is the ass fat?” It never failed. The answers varied, but in Gianna’s case, the answer was a resounding “hell yeah.” And Justin wasn’t exaggerating.

  She caught Tremaine’s eye the first time they met but hell, she caught everybody’s eye. There was just something about her. It was like she was deeply in tune with everything and everyone around her and had somehow figured out a way to draw you into her. Some people call it charm, others call it magnetism, but it was bigger than that. She could read you and she knew what you wanted and she knew how to give it to you without losing any of herself. And that shit worked.

  Justin wasn’t as impressed, though. He liked her and all but what he most cared about was how she made him look. Every man knows that having a dime on your arm makes you look like you’re about something. Justin relished that, but he didn’t really love her.

  Enter Tremaine.

  He still remembered that day. It was after they were married. Justin had a fight party and Gianna was buzzing around the kitchen trying to get the food out to all the men in her living room. Tremaine offered to help and she accepted.

  If it had been anybody else at the party, Justin would have had his guard up because every man knows you always keep one eye on that one—and there’s always one—who hangs out in the kitchen with your wife. But Justin loved Tremaine like a brother. Justin trusted Tremaine. Justin underestimated Tremaine.

  Gianna didn’t. They had a good time and flirted a little in the kitchen and she seemed to sense that he needed that. After they said their goodbyes at the end of the night, Tremaine didn’t give it much thought until a few months later when Gianna texted him.

  She claimed she was looking for gift ideas for Justin’s birthday but Tremaine knew better. Still, he played along and recommended something or other and she thanked him profusely and told him she owed him a drink.

  When you really think about it, he had to take her up on that. She was one of those southern girls who believe in all that etiquette bullshit so it was only right. It was the proper thing to do. He told her to meet him for happy hour after work one day.

  Game over. The thing about Gianna, and most so-called happily married women, is that they crave attention. Men get married and get comfortable as they get older. Women get more insecure. It doesn’t matter how fine they are, either. Aging and apathetic husbands wear them down and they have to live with the fact that it’s only gonna get worse. And that shit is forever. They vowed it.

  Again, enter Tremaine.

  She walked into that bar and turned every head in the place, but that’s not enough for women like Gianna. They want to be worshipped, and he was happy to give her what she came for. She got faded off the drinks and the compliments and it only took him another month to get her into bed.

  He fell fast. And hard. And he felt guilty. Justin was like a brother to him. But when he really looked back over their almost twenty years of friendship, a pattern emerged. Justin didn’t respect him. He talked down to him and belittled him about his shyness, sensitivity, and his luck with women. There was a point when Tremaine wondered if he fucked Gianna just to get back at Justin but in the end, it was far less complicated than that. He fell in love.

  At first, she just joked about getting rid of Justin. He played along for the laughs but after a while, it became clear that she wasn’t playing. Still, he held her off until the night she told him she had someone in mind to do the deed.

  Tremaine’s reaction surprised him. He was jealous. It made no sense, him feeling threatened by this nameless, faceless potential assassin, but the idea of some other man swooping in to save Gianna bothered him. A lot. So he agreed to do it for her.

  She went crazy on him that night. Damn near sucked the soul out of his body. For some women, it’s jewelry, for others, affection, but for Gianna, it was almost as if murder was her love language.

  Tremaine was ashamed of his actions and he only felt guiltier the longer he was locked up. But he wasn’t going to turn on Gianna. Ever. He was the one who had messed up. He would just have to eat that.

  If his homeboys could see him now, they would for sure call him a simp. And maybe it was true. I’ll be that, he thought. It was better than being a snitch.

  That night

  THE RAIN POURED FROM the sky, soaking Tremaine and everything else around him. He sat near the four-way stop at the corner of Wilcox and Fern, headlights off, eyes wide open, and waited for them to come by. His best friend and the love of his life.

  He had run through it a million times in his head. She was supposed to text him when they were near and he would stand there and wait, gun in hand. When they stopped, he would make his appearance at the driver’s side window. He would shoot his best friend in the head and then gift his lady with a gunshot to the arm. He’d done extensive research on bullet wounds and figured she had the absolute best chance of survival with that type of injury.

  After shooting them, he was to take their wallets, cell phones, and jewelry to make it look like a robbery. He would then drive off and use his burner phone to call 911 before dumping the phones and empty wallets into the Yellow River. Then he would show up at a bar somewhere to establish his alibi.

  They had planned it for weeks. It was foolproof.

  He checked his watch. 7:48. He was expecting her text any minute.

  Tremaine knew he needed to stay focused but he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. He envisioned their future together as the two had done so many times before. It was usually pillow talk, but that last time had been serious. After they waited the appropriate mourning time, the two would marry quietly. Kaya would be all for it; she loved her godfather. And Gianna, well G would be his wife. He envisioned their children, brilliant black babies who had their mother’s looks and his intellect. And they would make love every night for as long as they could stand it. The sex was insane.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing on his phone.

  Two minutes out.

  This was it. His heart raced as he exited the car, the cold rain fighting its way into the fabric of his black hoodie. He made his way across the street to the stop sign and placed his hand on the gun in his pocket. His throat dried out and he swallowed several times to moisten it. It was no use; his stress level was through the roof. His life was about to change forever.

  The headlights glowed about a block or two away, inching closer as the rain pelted Tremaine. He heard his heartbeat in his ears and felt it in his head. The headlights grew brighter and larger as the rain pounded away.

  Showtime.

  The white Mercedes came to a rolling stop and Tremaine had to run to get to the window before Justin pulled off. When Justin saw his friend, a mixture of surprise and recognition flickered across his face. Tremaine smiled involuntarily, as he always did, as soon as he saw Gianna, and in the split sec
ond before he pulled the gun from his pocket, he saw her smile back at him. His resolve strengthened, he pulled the gun and fired one shot into his best friend’s head.

  Per the plan, Gianna unlocked the doors and Tremaine opened the door, reached into the car, and dragged Justin’s body onto the wet asphalt. He rifled through his pockets with shaky hands but he managed to pull the wallet out without too much trouble.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gianna walking around the front of the car to get to his side. She looked good. “You did it,” she said as she launched herself toward him. He turned his attention from his dead best friend to the woman he loved, enveloping her in a bear hug. She was pleased. He had done his job.

  “Now go ahead and shoot me,” she said. It sounded like an inside joke but they both knew it was real. The rain continued to fall and Tremaine barely noticed it anymore. Despite his research and mental run-throughs, he still wasn’t prepared to do what she asked of him.

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “You have to.”

  “I know. I can’t, G. I just can’t do it. What if they take too long to get out here and you bleed to death?”

  “You said an arm wound is non-fatal.”

  “I said typically, but there’s still a chance.”

  She was getting irritated. “If you don’t shoot me, they’ll know I’m part of it. Baby, we talked about this. You have to do it.”

  Tremaine shook his head. He couldn’t do it. “We’re gonna have to do this another way.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I can’t shoot you but what if I just hit you? Enough to leave a bruise but not enough to really harm you.”

  “How is that different from shooting me?”

  “It just is, G.”

  “Alright, whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast.”

  “Okay.” He gave her a quick kiss on her lips, closed his eyes, and rammed the butt of his gun into the side of her face. He felt a sickening thud that reverberated through his hand and seemingly into his soul. His eyes flew open just in time to see her eyes roll back in her head. Her body sank toward the ground slowly and he reached out his arms to catch her. She went completely limp and he was sure he killed her.

  Panic set in. Tremaine crouched down beside her and ripped off his glove with his teeth so he could feel for a pulse. He pressed his fingers to the side of her neck and felt it throbbing. It was faint but it was better than the alternative. He nearly yelled with relief. The rain pelted her face and he started to take off his hoodie to cover her up before thinking the better of it. He couldn’t afford to leave any traces of himself at the scene.

  He stared at his lady and decided he would serve her best by leaving and calling 911 immediately. His burner phone was still in his car so he turned and ran as fast as he could.

  The 911 operator took his report—he had the presence of mind to disguise his voice—and by the time he got on the interstate, he could see the flashing lights and hear the sirens in the distance. He said a silent prayer for Gianna’s life and tried his hardest not to run off the road. His heart wouldn’t stop racing.

  It wasn’t until he got to Yellow River that he realized he forgot to grab Justin and Gianna’s phones, jewelry, and Gianna’s wallet. He silently cursed himself and wondered how badly he had messed things up. But there was no sense worrying about it; he couldn’t go back to the scene. It was probably crawling with police.

  He stepped out into the rain for the third time that evening, walked to the edge of the overpass, and threw his best friend’s wallet into the river below.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  BEVERLY PULLED INTO a parking lot and put the car in park. Gianna wasn’t sure where they were until she lifted her eyes and saw the Kroger marquee. Milk was on sale, five half-gallons for five dollars. “Why are we here?” she asked.

  Beverly turned in her seat until she was facing her daughter. “I just needed to get you out of the house. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s...I can’t.” The rain continued to pelt the car and Gianna grew increasingly anxious.

  “Gianna?”

  She wished like hell that Emmy was still alive. Her mother would never understand. “I found something in my phone,” she said.

  “What? What did you find?”

  “I can’t tell you. It’s too horrible.”

  “I’m your mother. You can tell me. No matter what it is.”

  The windows were beginning to fog now, creating an eerie cocoon effect. Gianna felt trapped. Her arms shook violently and she hugged herself to calm them. Tears streamed down her face. “It’s about Justin.”

  Beverly inhaled slowly before letting out a long sigh. “I knew it.”

  “You knew what?”

  “You’re just like her,” she said, her own eyes filling with tears. “It’s my fault.”

  Gianna stared, unable to decipher the meaning in Beverly’s words. “What are you saying?”

  “You did it, didn’t you?”

  Gianna wiped her eyes and shook her head rapidly. Her confusion was making her more anxious. “Did what?”

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Beverly said, her voice low and haunting.

  She did know. She couldn’t say it, and would never say it. It was too awful. But she was relieved Beverly knew. She was glad Beverly was there. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt that way about her mother.

  The two sat in silence and Gianna stared at the windshield in front of her. The fog made odd shapes and Gianna traced them in her mind. It soothed her.

  Beverly faced forward and put the car in gear before pulling back out onto the road.

  “Where are we going?” Gianna asked.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Please don’t take me to church.”

  “Just relax. Okay?”

  Beverly turned the radio to the gospel station and Gianna rolled her eyes. At that particular moment, she wasn’t worthy of a gospel song. She didn’t deserve it. She closed her eyes and listened, tears occasionally inching their way down her face. The car finally jerked to a stop and she opened her eyes.

  “Where are we?” she asked. Beverly must have turned on the defroster because she could see out of the windshield. She looked around and saw trees. They were on a bridge of some sort. “Why are we here?”

  Beverly didn’t speak. She simply took the phone, which was still lodged in Gianna’s left hand, and began to fiddle with it. Gianna watched as her mother removed the back cover, then the battery, and finally, the sim card. “Here,” Beverly said as she shoved the items into her daughter’s hands. “Take these, walk over there to the ledge, and throw these in the water.”

  “But—”

  “Do as I say.”

  Gianna followed her mother’s instructions. The walk from the car to the ledge was only about five feet but for Gianna, it felt like the last mile of a marathon. She inched forward on legs that felt like lead and her limp arms and hands trembled under the symbolic weight of the cargo they carried. She barely noticed the rain as she made her way to the edge of the bridge but she did feel her stitches stinging. She tossed the pieces of her phone into the water below and as she watched the last pieces of her old life drown, she felt hollow.

  “Good,” Beverly said as Gianna got back in the car. “That’s the end of that.”

  “I don’t understand you. You’re not mad or upset.”

  “I saw it coming. I knew her and I know you and I could see what she turned you into.”

  Gianna wished she knew where she was. She felt completely disoriented. “I need to turn myself in.”

  “Why on earth would you do that?”

  “Because it’s my fault that he’s in there.”

  “Did you make him do it? Did you force him at gunpoint?” Beverly sounded so much like Emmy that Gianna was actually afraid. But Beverly wasn’t possessed and she wasn’t a ghost. She was right there being a mother, or at least her version of it.

>   “No, but—”

  “But nothing. You will move on with your life and take care of your daughter. Period.”

  “So just leave him in there to rot?”

  “Pretty much.” She looked at Gianna and her face softened. “It’s either him or you and I can’t let your daughter suffer the way you did. I see the toll it took. You’ll never get over it, and neither would she.”

  “But—”

  “I did some things I’m not proud of but...I owed you one. I owed you a lot.”

  Wait a second. Gianna frowned. “You owed me. What does that mean? What did you do?”

  Beverly put a hand over her eyes as if to keep herself from seeing what she was about to do. “Those letters...I just wanted to throw the police off.”

  “You sent those letters?” Gianna asked, incredulous and afraid.

  “I thought it would help you. And I took your little phone. I caught Cathy rifling through your office at Kaya’s party and I took it for safekeeping. Also, I...might have lied to them about you and Tremaine. I lied about a lot of things.” She sighed heavily. “I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”

  Gianna had no interest in her mother’s existential quandary. “Hold on. Back up for a second. What did you tell them about Tremaine?”

  “I told them he was manipulating you. That he had been pining for you. That he was inserting himself into your life and trying to take Justin’s place.”

  “But you got him thrown in jail. He could be in there for the rest of his life!”

  Beverly didn’t look sorry. “You’re being naïve. They would have caught him sooner or later. You’re better off. So is Kaya. I didn’t want her living with a murderer.”

  “But I’m—”

  “No, you’re not. Enough! It’s done.”

  She pulled off and drove back toward the house. Gianna stared at her mother with wide eyes, fear and anger pumping through her veins. How could she do this?

  Beverly ran a stop sign. Gianna looked back at it and then at her mother. Beverly seemed to be in a trance. “Look, I know I’ve let you down and I know you’ll never forgive me no matter how much you say you have. But whatever else happens, I want you to remember this day. Remember that I did this for you.”